


New France

by transpines



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Gen, canada is new france, mattie grows up, mildly historical, not prucan, prussia doesn't know how to handle kids
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-12
Updated: 2016-09-12
Packaged: 2018-08-14 14:07:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8016970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/transpines/pseuds/transpines
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Awesome Gilbert represents an awesome nation. The year is 1640, and he's just as fierce and fearsome as ever. Except... Francis needs a babysitter, and... well. Maybe New France isn't as bad as the Prussian thought he'd be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Meeting Him

 The Awesome Prussia initially thought that Francis was joking when he suggested babysitting his 'petite colony'. New France was small and quiet and fragile, and Gilbert... well. The mighty seizer of vital regions had no absolutely intention of spending his glorious afternoons sitting on plush carpet entertaining any child, not even his best friend's.

Not even when Francis asked very nicely.  
Nein. Not happening.  
"Oh, alright, alright!" Gilbert finally yelled, exasperated. "Fine, I'll look after your damn colony. Mein Gott."  
"Ah, merci, Gilber'!" the Frenchman replied, skipping over to the former. The blond man kissed his cheek and Gilbert grimaced; he was not looking forward to this.

He met Francis' charge only a few hours later. Francis came out with a small ruffled child who could only have been New France. Gilbert had to admit, he was pretty—his hair framed his face softly, and his little hands rested on his papa's shoulders, almost poised. Sure, he could be seen as beautiful—in the same way that the traditional European paintings were beautiful. That didn't mean that Gilbert liked the kid or wanted to take care of him. And, Francis had decorated him with the same excessiveness as the paintings, too. The poor kid was practically suffocated in ribbons and frills. Wasn't this supposed to be a boy?

"This is Matthieu," Francis introduced, and confirmed Gilbert's thoughts. Gilbert grunted in response. He watched the Frenchman lean down and speak to the colony quietly in their native language; the Prussian had no idea what was said, but Matthieu nodded. His papa let him down onto the floor and he wobbled. Scheiße, why did he have to do this?  
"I'll be back~" Francis sang, waving to both of them. "You be good," he warned, pointing specifically to Gilbert. The Prussian man smirked. "No promises," he said. Francis narrowed his eyes. He gave a last word to Matthieu before leaving.  
And with that...the great, awesome Gilbert Beilschmidt was left to take care of a tiny, pansy child.

Damn.

"So, uh... I don't care if you follow your papa's rules or not," he said flatly, "just don't get me into trouble and you can do vhatever se hell you vant." The boy blinked.  
 _Aw, scheiße, vhat if he only speaks French? Fucking Francis_ , he thought. "Ah... non parle français? Désole." He knew his French sucked (pardon the pun) but he was too busy conquering, battling and beating unawesome asses to try to learn anything besides what he already knew from Francis. Which were mostly things the Frenchman would prefer unrepeated to his young colony. Gilbert smirked at the thought. New France, on the other hand, simply nodded to Gilbert's attempted-French statement. Maybe the kid didn't talk at all.

In the meantime, Gilbert didn't hesitate to make himself at home. He grabbed some of the awesome beer he'd brought (no way he was drinking any of Francis's light-ass champagne) and flopped down on the expensive sofa, having the decency to remove his shoes only because the Frenchman had thrown a hissy fit the last time he hadn't. New France still stared up at him, and to be honest the small boy was starting to freak him out a little. Not that he'd ever admit that he'd been unnerved by an effeminate colony—and a French one, nonetheless. "Vas? Vas do you vant?!"

The colony blinked again—his eyes, Gilbert saw, were strangely purple, how did that even happen?—before lifting his arms above his head and reaching toward the Prussian. His fingers trembled slightly as he stood, waiting. Gilbert made a face. "Vas, you vant to come up here vith me?"  
New France nodded.

 _Vhy? Kids are veird._ Nevertheless, he set down his drink and scooped up New France, not very smoothly, and positioned him on the cushion next to him. "Sere," he said aloud, wondering what he'd have to do next. Luckily, Matthieu seemed satisfied for now.

After a moment Gilbert picked up his drink again, unsure of what to do or how to act around the colony. Sure, Ludwig was little but he had other people taking care of him; besides, when it came down to it, he could handle himself, and Gilbert doubted New France could do the same. He snorted. The kid couldn't even get up onto the couch by himself, of course there was no way he was able to defend his territory.

Gilbert sat in silence with his drink, sneaking glances at New France, for a total of four minutes. That was when he decided he couldn't do it anymore.  
"Alright, kid, I'm gonna tell you about all of mein awesome, glorious victories. In my language, because sere's no fucking way I'm stumbling through French on this. Stupid Francis. So listen up, even if you can't understand, because sis is gonna be se best damn thing you've ever heard in your life."

Perhaps Matthieu did not understand, but he watched with wide eyes as Gilbert recounted and reenacted, to a certain extent, his battles and victories and occasional defeats. He seemed to listen when Gilbert talked about his brother and the rest of his family, and smiled when the older man's face lit up as he recalled the fun times he'd had with the boy's papa and their friend Antonio. Eventually, though Gilbert didn't remember it happening, the colony drifted off to sleep, and when Francis found the two of them, hours later—well, the Frenchman would always insist that 'his petite Matthieu had snuggled up to ze almighty Prussia et zey were both sound asleep~' and Gilbert would always, always deny this fact.

He simply told Matthieu to keep it a secret, though.


	2. On the Job Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Minor warning here for Gilbert's curses [as usual], italic sentences are thoughts, single words are for emphasis or sometimes sound effects. You'll figure it out.)

"And so, mon ami, I am going away again—"

"Fuck it, Francis! Vhere se hell do you even go?"

"Ah, ah," the Frenchman chided, "non. Do not worry about me. I need someone to watch after mon Matthieu," he explained.

Gilbert scowled, though not as impressively as the last time his friend had suggested this favour. "Vhy can't you get Toni to do it?" he whined. Francis sighed.

"You know as well as I do that Antoine will lose him or let him free in ze tomato patches or something of ze sort. I simply cannot trust mon chérie wiz him..."

The Prussian snorted. "Vas, und you trust me more?" he couldn't help himself; he grinned suggestively and received a well-earned slap from his friend.

_Nailed it._

"You also know as well as I do zat if you do _anything_ to him, I will do much more unspeakable things to you..."

"Vhat sort of—"

_Slap._

"Fine, fine! Gottverdammt, Francis!"

A small smile played on the French personification's lips. There were very few people who could make the awesome Prussia do something that he absolutely did not want to do, but luckily the Frenchman was one of them. "Merci, Gilber~" he practically sang. Gilbert glared at him.

The colony was apparently napping when the Prussian arrived, meaning Gilbert didn't have anything to do to take care of him, for the time being at least. Despite his relief, he had to admit—only to his awesome self, of course—that he was curious about France's colony. The kid was just... odd. He wasn't afraid of Gilbert, which confused him, because generations of men, women and children all around the world had been terrified of his "unholy scarlet eyes", for as long as he could remember. The other nations also had a tendency to keep their distance, but for some reason, when he had visited New France, the tiny colony hadn't reacted at all.

Well... a couple of times during his storytelling, the boy had inched away and widened his own eyes. There. Maybe he was a bit normal, after all. But there was only one way to find out.

Gilbert tried to wait, he really did, but nobody could ever say that he was a patient man. Within twenty minutes of his arrival he was knocking on the door of what he believed to be Matthieu's room.

"Oi, kid! Vake up, ve have sings to do!"

He heard a small murmur from the other side of the door. Pleased, at least, that he'd found the right room, he cracked the door open and walked in, quickly adjusting to the darker room. He knelt down to meet Matthieu's gaze.

"Hey, kid," he said, crimson eyes staring directly into violet. Matthieu blinked. _He still hasn't talked to me...  
_

"Come on, I have some sings to show you."

When the boy still didn't move, Gilbert frowned. _Kid doesn't take orders.._. sighing, he leaned over and struggled to pick the colony up, with no real idea of how to do it or what limbs he was supposed to support. Luckily Matthieu didn't squirm or cry, because he _really_ didn't know how to handle that. Awkwardly he brought the boy into the living room and set him down on the sofa, the same place as last time, and plopped down beside him. He dug his fingers into his jacket pocket and pulled out some coins, just Prussian pocket change. He could feel Matthieu watching him, and without a word he handed one of the coins to the boy. The colony didn't seem to know what to do with it, but he didn't put it in his mouth, which was apparently one of the things that small children did, he learned later. Instead, he just fingered it softly, playing with it, flipping it over in between his palms. He traced the designs, fascinated, and Gilbert watched him, just as fascinated. When he was finished, he held the coin back out to the Prussian, letting it sit on his tiny, open palm.

"Bonne," he said quietly. Gilbert smiled. Now that was a word he knew. "Gut," he replied.

They passed things back and forth for a long time, but when Gilbert ran out of objects in his immediate reach and Matthieu was still looking at him expectantly, he knew he had to do something. "Come on," he said again, "ve're going outside."

To his surprise, the boy shook his head, looking worried when the older man continued insisting upon venturing outdoors. The personification of Prussia was confused. "Vas, does Francypants not let you go outside or somesing?"

Matthieu nodded.

"Bullshit."

He picked the child up, still awkwardly, and kicked open the door to the garden with more force than he should have used. Once there, he put Matthieu down on the manicured grass and closed the door, slightly less abusively. The colony stared up at him in concern.

"I'm guessing sat your 'papa' doesn't like you coming out here because you'll get dirty or some crap, but se awesome me has nothing against a little dirt. So ve're following my rules instead of his," he stated. Matthieu shrugged slightly and the Prussian took that as an agreement.

Now that they were here, they needed something to do. Something awesome. He went over to one of Francis' beautiful trees and snapped a branch off of it, and then cleaned it up a bit—pulling off all the protruding leaves and smaller branches until he had one singular stick. He got out his knife and sharpened the small end of the stick to a point, New France watching all the while. When he was finished, he handed it to the boy.

"Today, I'm going to teach se awesome little you how to swordfight."

—

Needless to say, the Frenchman was horrified when he'd found out about the lessons. He did not want his petite Matthieu to be near weapons, much less use them, _much less_ let _Prussia_ of all nations wave weapons around with him. Still... Gilbert had proved to be a strange yet oddly reliable babysitter, despite whatever antics he may choose to spring on the colony. And the few times that Francis had actually managed to get his colony to respond to his gentle prodding about the Prussian, the responses had all been positive.

New France liked Prussia.

And no one was sure why.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Comments, questions? Just want to say hi? Email us at welcometonightvale.org... no, no. Just put up a comment or something. Thanks!)


	3. Seeking Him Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Enjoy the show!)

"Can I come see Matthieu?" Gilbert found himself eventually asking.

"Why of course, mon cher. One might even think you were... _fond_ of se boy, non? Gilber', are you going soft?" Francis teased over his champagne.

"Nein!" the Prussian 'psh'ed indignantly, setting down his own drink. "Don't be stupid, leave sat to Toni. Se awesome me is still awesome! Veren't you paying attention vhen I kicked sat dumb Svede's ass again last month?!"

The Frenchman smiled coyly. "Et, are we ignoring ze part where you zen got beaten by Elizaveta, again?"

"..."

"Oh hon hon, of course you can visit him, Prusse. 'E is always happy to see you."

Gilbert looked up from his beer. "Really?" he asked. How did Francis even know? The colony practically never spoke…

"Oui. Et he stays happy for a few days after. Perhaps you would see him zis weekend?" the Frenchman offered. Gilbert thought over the plans he had and those his boss may be making. "Um... ja, I sink sat vill vork," he said. Francis beamed.

"I will tell mon Matthieu tonight. 'E will be so excited! Ah, ze parental joy in setting up playdates…"

"It's not a playdate!" Gilbert squawked.

"Oui, oui, whatever you say, Gilber'..."

Francis was smiling that small smile of his again, and Gilbert did not like it.

—

This time was different from the other times, and not because of Francis smiling weirdly (although he still did, to Gilbert's chagrin). After the "parent nation" had left, the Prussian was greeted with a very soft, careful "Bonjour."

This would be only the second word Matthieu had ever said to him—the first being 'bonne', as applied to the coins. The small colony had stayed surprisingly quiet even during the sword lessons, and in the few times since then. Now that he was speaking up, Gilbert was absurdly pleased.

"Hallo," he replied, trying and failing to keep the grin off his face. New France held up his arms, and the Prussian pulled him up onto the couch accordingly. He was getting much better at doing so.

It blew his mind, to be honest, how much he enjoyed just being with Matthieu. The kid was sweet, and amusing, and willing to go along with Gilbert's antics. And he respected Prussia's awesomeness! Genuinely. Which, powerful as Prussia was, the other nations often did not hold the same respect...

Plus... Matthieu was, admittedly, quite pretty. England's colony America, whom Gilbert had met briefly but found annoying, was growing up fast. He would probably be a teenager within the next hundred years… and Gilbert would be lying if he said he wasn't looking forward to the person that Matthieu would become. The _man_ that he would become.

Assuming his situation wasn't anything like Hungary's…

But even if Matthieu did turn out not to be a boy, Gilbert probably wouldn't care.

That was enough pansy thoughts for now. To redeem himself, he grinned over at the colony and asked, "Vanna do some more sword vork?"

Matthieu nodded. But instead of waiting to be pulled off the couch and picked up as he usually did, he lowered himself to the ground and made his own way to the porch door. He turned and smiled at the older man, as if to say, _look, I can do things on my own like you._ Gilbert tried not to be impressed. Looks like he was growing, too...

He followed the colony to the door and opened it—the damn thing hadn't been doing so well since Gilbert had kicked it—and let them both outdoors. He found Matthieu's stick, safe in the bush in which he'd hidden it, and handed it to him. The little one seemed much more familiar with it now.

Back and forth, back and forth. Gilbert used his real sword, but kept his sheath around it even though swinging both was a pain. He didn't want to hit the kid, and he realised now that that was more than just not wanting to displease Francis. He straightened his stance and made a move at Matthieu, which the colony blocked. "Gut."

Back, and forth. Matthieu copied his stances and didn't just go for Gilbert's legs, as might be expected for someone his height. He still wasn't _good_ , but he was better, and Gilbert found himself pleased. They only stopped when the colony was worn out; New France lay down on the grass and beckoned Prussia to join him. Bruises, scratches and a little dirt aside, the two did not behave like enemies. Then again, they never had.

 _It's nice to have a friend who doesn't beat me in se face with a frying pan_ , Gilbert decided. He didn't even deny how he liked spending time with Matthieu the next time Francis brought it up… to the Frenchman's slight concern. What if Prussia really was changing?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Do we still have to say that "we do not own Hetalia" for every chapter? ??? Please help)


	4. Seeing Things Change

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Warning for Gilbert's mouth...)

"Ah… _mon ami,_ " Francis began, sounding uncharacteristically hesitant, "...you 'ave not made any advances on Matthieu in ze name of l'amour, correct?"

Gilbert frowned. "...se hell are you asking me sat for?"

"Please, just answer ze question."

"But I don't understand _vhy—"_

"Answer ze question, Prusse!"

"NEIN!" Gilbert exploded, rage shining in his eyes against his friend. "Nein, I haven't! I _never vould!_ Vhy se _hell_ do you suddenly feel se need to ask me?"

Francis said nothing, and Gilbert growled.

"I thought you trusted me, _France_. Se fuck are you playing at?" he spat. The French personification looked away, clearly uncomfortable. He spoke his next words carefully.

"Matthieu, 'e 'as told me... ah, zat 'e loves you."

Silence. Gilbert could hear his own heartbeats and the echos of their words hanging in the air. He couldn't breathe, and nearly forgot to try. "Vhat."

"I believe you 'eard perfectly well what I said, cher."

_Matthieu, he has told me… ah, that he loves you._

_Matthieu loved_ _him_ _._

_He_ _loved_ _him._

_He—_

"—Did he just answer 'yes' vhen you asked him or did he bring sis up by himself?" Gilbert demanded. It made a difference. If the boy had simply replied to his papa, then there was a chance he'd made the answer up in an effort to please him or some shit. If he'd offered it up on his own…

"I had nozing to do wiz it," the Frenchman said, watching his friend.

_Matthieu loved him._

His head was spinning faster than he could comprehend. _No one_ loved Prussia, and very few people—nations—loved Gilbert. His Vatti did, Toni and Francis sorta did… Elizabetha? ...that was complicated. None of his leaders had any special attachment to him, nor did even his citizens. Gilbert Beilschmidt was a loner, what could he say.

But now…

"Can—can I come talk to him?" he hated himself for stuttering but couldn't help it.

"Of course."

—

He and Francis went back to the Frenchman's house, where a human maid had been looking after the colony. Although she was adequate, Francis always preferred a nation to take care of him, just in case of any colonial growth or troubles that a human wouldn't understand. He dismissed her and then went out to the garden himself, leaving the Prussian alone with New France. Alone, despite the fact that the Frenchman was probably watching out of the corner of his eye. Damn Francis.

"Um, hallo," Gilbert said, weirdly nervous. Matthieu already had his violet eyes fixed on him. "Bonjour," he greeted, his small voice as soft as ever.

_He loved_ _him_ _?_

"Uh, vell—Francis told me somesing about you, ja? I vant to confirm sat it's true." The colony nodded—he was seemingly unaware of what was about to happen. Gilbert frowned again.

The man spoke slowly, as part of an effort to keep himself collected but also to delay the inevitable. He'd rather go into battle than do this!

"He told me sat you—you love me." Damn his hesitance! He was a _Prussian soldier_ ; there should be no room in him for uncertainty!

But Matthieu's eyes widened, and the colony began to back away.

"Look, I, I know it's invading your personal privacy und shit, but…" the Prussian gulped and by that time New France was nearing the stairs.

"I-I love you too…!" Gilbert called in desperation. The boy raced up the steps, down the hall to his room; Gilbert heard the door close firmly.

 _Did_ he love him? Was it true? The number of people Gilbert had said those words to were _extremely_ few and far between. So? What was he doing? Everything had changed, just because of some… some kid? No. Matthieu wasn't just a kid. Matthieu was… it was too hard to explain.

He decided he needed a drink before he seriously considered any course of action. _You need a battle plan, Preußen._ He entered Francis' kitchen and pulled out a beer from the cellar—in a moment of bad taste he downed most of it in one go, and took another. Then another, and soon he was on the couch drinking fancy wine (though not by choice. Apparently he'd run through Francis' miniscule beer supply). He sobered up slightly and stumbled up the stairs towards Matthieu's room.

He knocked.

"Hey, kid, open up, I vant to talk to you!"

No reply. He didn't _say_ anything, but Gilbert he thought he heard some sobs from the inside. _Oh..._

"Look kid, birdie, I know this is hard und you're a colony but…" he tried not to slur his words as he leaned against the door, "but I-I promise never to forget you. Francis vill most likely kick me out and never let me see you again. Or even if he doesn't, you'd probably not vant to see me again. Either vay… b-but I'll never forget you, birdie. Not even vhen I die; I'll look over you from se heavens, or hell, and make sure you're okay. I-I love you, birdie."

There was one final sob before things went quiet. Gilbert needed to sleep off his drinks; he sank to the ground outside of Matthieu's door and started to drift off there. He swore he heard soft breathing right on the other side of the door, but he didn't pay attention to it.

—

Gilbert woke back up on the couch with a tight-lipped Francis staring down at him. _So this is what it's like to be Britain, mm?_ He smirked. The Frenchman did not appreciate it.

"Whatever did you do to mon pauvre Matthieu?"

 _Hm?_ "Vhat do you mean, Francis?"

"I went out, to go speak to Belgium. When I arrived home, 'e came running to me et started crying. 'E 'as not told me what 'appened. But 'e pointed to you, on ze couch, and cried some more. Mon ami, you 'ad better explain yourself..." Francis, unlike Gilbert, could be a patient man. But now, his blue eyes flashed dangerously. Even he had limits… Matthieu, evidently, was one of them.

"Sat kid dragged me onto se couch?" The little colony who couldn't even get up here himself was able to get Gilbert onto it?

"You are avoiding the question _, cher._ "

"I'm not answering your dumb questions. I'm leaving." In one motion—which he regretted, as blood pounded furiously in his head—Gilbert got up off the couch and began heading towards the door.

"You leave wizout explaining, you cannot see mon petite colony again~" the Frenchman goaded. He must have thought that would make Gilbert bounce back, and it normally would, but the Prussian wasn't up for it. He even didn't turn around...

"He doesn't vant to talk to or see me anyvays. Good bye Francis. Tell Matthieu goodbye." Gilbert shut the door and rode his way back home via horse.

—

He did not hear from Francis. He did not hear from Matthieu. He _did_ hear from Britain, who as the century went on, upped the bragging and complaining about his own colony to the rest of Europe. Apparently America was… less obedient… than anticipated. And years passed. Francis had initially tried to mend the connection between Matthieu and the Prussian, but he eventually gave up. Gilbert ignored every letter and surprise visit, and Matthieu wouldn't say a word. Besides, _Prussia_ had his own problems to deal with, like being awesome, and as the Frenchman brought his country to war against Britain _again,_ Gilbert almost forgot about the colony.

Almost.

—

He came up again in the 1760s. By then, some things had changed—he'd found his greatest leader yet and had traded out one enemy for others (fighting Austria, it turned out, was really damn fun)—but some things were the same as ever. In this particular disagreement between Arthur and Francis, Arthur won, requiring the Frenchman to give up some of his territories… his colonies. 'New France' became British, but the boy—teen? How old was he now?—wasn't world news for long. Come 1776, America took the stage and officially rebelled, then Gilbert's beloved leader died and France began a revolution too… it was too much.

In 1871, Gilbert stood in Francis' beloved Hall of Mirrors in Versailles, despite their most recent battle, along with his brother for the very first time. His brother—young but strong, Ludwig Beilschmidt. Together, they would represent Germany.

He didn't have time to worry about a kid whose name was once Matthieu.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Um... I tried, with the history here, I really did. If anything seems off to you, it could be because I used the canon of the real world instead of Hetalia... so... eh, just let us know if it's weird. One chapter to go!)


	5. Renewing Old Ties

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Eh! I hope you liked this story... they did on fanfiction.net, not to start any competition... but feedback is always great.)

A lot had changed as the centuries went on. Nations had their battles, their panics, the loss of their leaders. Industry took over agriculture and manual labour became mechanised, creating vehicles and factories galore. This fed new tools for war—tools put to the test in 1914, then 1939. Gilbert and his brother went through greater fluctuation in the twentieth century than any other time, or (debatably) any other country: top of the world, bottom of the food chain. Break the vengeance clauses, become militarily occupied. The Wall went up, the Wall came down… Slowly, _so slowly_ , they began to heal.

Ludwig seemed like his old self again by the time the twenty first century rolled around, but Gilbert—well. The younger German had taken charge of their whole country, and since modern leadership required considerably more paperwork and considerably less battle, the Prussian was almost willing to let it happen.

Nobody knew about Prussia anymore, anyway.

So he shouldn't have been surprised when he found himself locked out of the World Meeting, since he didn't have anywhere to represent. He hadn't even particularly wanted to come (Luddie had finally forced him), but now he couldn't even participate?

_Verdammt._

He watched the micronations gather in their own meeting outside the doors—Gott, they were annoying—and waited for someone to come along, _someone_ coming in late… The doors never opened after the meeting started. If someone did come, they'd be stuck outside with him...

He sat on the waiting bench, fidgeting in his nice clothes. He stared up at the ceiling and counted tiles on the floor. He was about to go tell Peter Kirkland to _shut se fuck up already_ , when he finally did see someone else. Someone blond, hurrying down the hall and muttering under their breath. Despite Ludwig's attempts to keep Gilbert connected to current world affairs, he didn't recognise who it was—even when they came close enough to knock on the door.

"Don't bother," Gilbert told the newcomer, "Sey von't let you in. I've been out here since it started…" He rolled his eyes, and in doing so did not catch the look of absolute astonishment that crossed the other man's face.

"Gilbert?" the man asked, the question coming out as a whisper. The Prussian looked up.

"Ja?" _Was he missing something here?_ The man smiled at him.

"—I'm Matthew. Or, je m'appelle Matthieu…" his voice softened as the words became French. "Bonjour de Nouvelle-France."

Gilbert blinked. It took him what he'd eventually call an "unawesomely long time" for him to place the name—blame it on his time under _Russia_ , if you will. He sorted through his memories before stumbling upon a tiny, blond colony with a beautiful jacket and a stick sword. _New France._

"Kid!" he exclaimed, blinking again and taking in the man in front of him. "Vhen se hell did sis happen?" Really, there was quite a startling difference. The New France of his memory was quaint, slight… perhaps five in human years? Gilbert was terrible at guessing supposed ages. But _Matthew…_ He'd turned strong and well-built. Still blond, still with that one ridiculous curl similar to Ludwig's ally/friend/lover, but… Damn. He looked good. And he looked good happy. New France had never smiled much but it definitely suited him now.

Matthew laughed. "Mostly in the eighteen and 1900s," he said. "I got my country status in 1867!"

 _So young_. The Prussian too smiled, but sadly, remembering when Prussia was as young as that. He wondered what sorts of things Matthew would face, and how it would be different from his own.

"Vhy don't you tell me all about se awesome you! Consider it payment for vhen I told you mein battle stories und shit, vhen you vere small~" He scooted over on the bench, gesturing for the blond to sit next to him. He obliged.

"I didn't understand most of those stories," the younger admitted. Gilbert shrugged it off. "Sat just means I can tell you again!"

So, they talked. This time, so many years later, it was more than just a one-sided conversation in a language only one of them understood. Matthew explained how he was late today because of his brother's pranks, and Gilbert bragged on his own brother until the other shut him up. They talked about global events and personal preferences, music, alliances, the past, the present. They made plans to share pancakes and tour Berlin. Everything was going pretty well—but Gilbert asked a question.

"Hey," he said, into a moment that had previously been comfortable silence, "Uh, do you remember se promise I made you…?"

Unreadable silence. The Prussian looked over at Matthew, who nodded. "You said you'd never forget me." His voice was so quiet, much quieter than it even was naturally. He… he sounded like a child again, and Gilbert felt guilt well inside himself for leaving in the first place.

"Vell…" he began, not wanting to continue, "Sat's not entirely true. Sometimes I had vay too many other sings to vorry about und I did forget. Vith Francypants boasting about his colonies all se time und me talking about Vest, ve annoyed se shit out of each other, so ve agreed to stop. But sometimes, vhen sings vere peaceful or I had time to think... I remembered you. Kinda figured you'd die or be absorbed into Francis," he added hastily, "but you vere pretty awesome, you know. Not many people put up vith me as vell as you did."

"I liked spending time with you," Matthew simply said. "Even if you were Papa's crazy friend with the sword."

"Hey!"

The blond giggled. "Sorry."

Gilbert grinned. "Und, vone more sing…" he asked, even though he knew he was already pushing it. Matthew looked over at him. "Yes?"

"You… you said sat you loved me."

 _He_ _loved_ _him._ Hadn't that been a long time past? The Prussian grimaced as he realised how damn old he was. _Still younger than China._

And… Matthew looked away. "It was stupid," he muttered. He seemed to be berating himself in his head and Gilbert couldn't have that. "Nein. It _vasn't stupid_ ," the Prussian insisted, "I just vant to know vhy."

Calm, collected Matthew. Strong, smiling Matthew. Quaint, quiet _Matthieu_. He was deciding what to say, or how to say it—he wouldn't meet Gilbert's eyes and that was fine with him. He felt strangely patient for Matthew.

"I—didn't know what love was like. You were wonderful," he said, a small smile gracing his lips, "I felt… awesome, when you were there and I never wanted you to leave. You didn't make moves on my territory, even while everyone else I knew did. And…" Here he blushed. "You made me believe I could do things on my own, again. After meeting Arthur and Francis and the others, self-determination was hard to come by."

 _Was he really so young?_ Matthew sounded wiser than nearly all of the countries in the meeting room, even though Gilbert knew that couldn't be true. _Perhaps he was just kinder..._

"So deep, birdie. I applaud you," Gilbert told him, clapping but smiling so the blond would know he wasn't being mean. "For se record, I thought you vere awesome too, like I said. Sorry I left…"

"We could start over."

 _Vas?_   He stared at Matthew, who just shrugged. "I mean, if you want. I loved you once, so… So we could try again, see how it goes. Maybe?"

"Ja!"

Matthew smiled brightly, his eyes twinkling. He stuck out his hand.

"Hi. I'm Canada," he introduced himself.

"And I am se awesome Prussia!" Gilbert yelled, and after shaking Matthew's hand he took it and ran down the hall. The Canadian laughed, and ran with him. Peter Kirkland shouted at both of them for acting less like countries than him, but they didn't care. They were starting over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Thank you, so much. Also: Have any suggestions for new stories? Send us that, too! We don't know what we're going to publish next so anything has a chance of going~)


End file.
